My Angel, My Muse
by Lyss2
Summary: Crowley realizes quite slowly, that every insecurity, inhibition, and passion lie with his Angel. Might be finished soon depending on interest.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I (quite sadly…) do not own Aziraphale or Crowley… Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen are their respectful owners…whom I might add should be read by all. 

This story may catch an R rating later, I haven't decided. This is my first fic ever…so please be kind.

My Angel, My Muse 

In the beginning, neither of them had really liked their day jobs.  
  
Aziraphale, giving away the flaming sword. Crowley throwing open the pearly gates and taking the elevator. Apparently to fall was cliché.   
  
Aziraphale was what angels should have been like. Crowley thought as he paged through "People" magazine looking for ideas. Brittany Spears and Justin Timberlake had been his idea, only they'd enjoyed it. So now he was looking for something new. Angels are all the same. Self righteous, single-minded, inhumanly gorgeous, and none of them ever thought anything but what God told them to. Aziraphale was different. Crowley had noticed it almost right off. Aziraphale had a mind of his own, and had been punished for it several times over. Punished for doing what he thought was right, what truly was good for all of humanity. Pheh. "If there is one thing that I don't miss about heaven..."  
  
Crowley shook his head and tossed the magazine, missing a fern by a few inches. "I'll get you next time then." Crowley fell backwards onto his couch and realized that he hated the way that the leather felt. It wasn't comfortable, the way it pulled at his skin, and it was ugly. The only time he ever appreciated the couch was when Aziraphale had been sitting on it the one time he had been to Crowley's flat. The colors and feelings you got from each were so different that one brought the other out. The black leather, the white angel.  
  
Crowley sat up, kicking an almost dead houseplant off of the end table. He couldn't even remember what that one was supposed to have been. He laughed to himself. The angel would have scolded him for torturing the greenlings so.   
  
If only the angel realized that sometimes Crowley did the things he did for the angels attention. Crowley liked that Aziraphale knew what his favorite meal consisted of, and he liked hearing him scold him over dinner about the ducks at the park, or the blinking green lights, or Heraldo Rivera. Other than that, Crowley really didn't know what to talk to the angel about. He was afraid to talk to the angel about much else. Afraid. Crowley was so sure of his current position in the ever-running river of things above and below. He was sure he was a bad demon. He was sure he took pleasure from making everyday life miserable for all of humanity. He was sure he was damn good at it. He was made for it.  
  
He was sure of all of that until he sat across or next to, or was in the presence of Aziraphale. Crowley wrinkled his nose in embarrassment. When the angel looked at him he couldn't find hate, anger, or any of the other stereotypical things angels exuded in lethal doses. Maybe, it would have been easier if there were...Crowley could have done the stereotypical demon things then. Case closed. Only...the angel talked to him because the angel WANTED to. The angel, Aziraphale, enjoyed Crowley's presence.   
  
Crowley hissed at himself. Why was he even thinking about all of this? The voice of God, Metatron had come down and scolded the angel again last night, in Crowley's presence. Well, Crowley had been under the table praying, er scratch that...hoping in the most evil way possible that the Metatron wouldn't notice there were two plates on the table. The angel didn't need any more trouble. God made it clear a long time ago, that Aziraphale's punishment for not doing as he was told, was to be on earth, as a permanent operative forever. The angel never said it, but he was doing his best to pretend to be miserable.   
  
Crowley smiled, rather like a snake and rolled off of the couch and into a sitting position on the floor. Aziraphale was lying. Maybe not vocally, or even intentionally, but his actions were deceptive. God thought leaving the angel on earth would be the perfect punishment. Crowley laughed out loud, Aziraphale thought so too.


	2. chapter two

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven't read them, you should...really quite good.  
  
The rating for this fic may end up soaring.

  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Aziraphale sneezed. It felt good. Angels didn't get to sneeze enough, Metatron didn't believe it was very angelic. iAll/i of the small things that Aziraphale got to do here on Earth were nice. He sighed, wondering with a small pang of uncertainty what it was really like to fall. If you fell, did that mean you HAD to work for the other side? Couldn't you just not work for either? He wondered if heaven and hell knew what "free agent" meant. No, he decided. Heaven and hell would never ifree/i anything.  
  
"Angel," Crowley said from the corner chair, "what is that look?"  
  
Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin. "Crowley!"  
  
The demon raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "Who else?"  
  
"I hate it when you do that." Aziraphale began to pick up all of the books he had thrown when startled.  
  
"I know." A smile. "Something bothering you angel?"  
  
Aziraphale didn't look at Crowley just then. He really didn't know what was bothering him. At the moment, everything was okay. He heard the chair creek as the demon stood and started towards him. He began to shake is head and look up, but Crowley was already there.  
  
Crowley reached out and covered the angel's mouth with his hand, shushing him. "Don't lie angel." Amusement sparkled in his golden eyes and he removed his hand. "There are many greater things to fall for."  
  
iLike you./i Crowley thought as he forced himself to cross back over to the chair in the corner. He thought he really should go and work on something. He hadn't wreaked havoc in days. He wondered if the angel knew that Crowley had been good. He shivered, and looked back to Aziraphale who was blushing furiously. His favorite reaction.  
  
Aziraphale considered telling the demon that he wasn't actually going to lie...Only that too would have been a lie. He just sighed.  
  
Over dinner that night Crowley did his best to cheer the angel up. Nothing worked, but Aziraphale did notice his effort. The angel smiled a small contented smile and told him everything ireally was/i okay. Crowley wondered silently if Hell knew he was trying to make an angel smile. A new thought struck.  
  
"Aziraphale," he began.  
  
Piercing blue eyes turned their attention from food, to demon, and that demon almost choked on his pasta.  
  
"Hmm?" Aziraphale tried, with his mouth full to answer, and Crowley recovered quickly from shock, to amusement. The angel was icute/i.  
  
"Are angels allowed to laugh?"  
  
Aziraphale swallowed. "Well, yes of course."  
  
"At jokes?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Even dirty jokes?"  
  
The angel blinked. "I - I'm not sure about dirty jokes."  
  
"What if you think it's funny?"  
  
"I think the trick, demon, is not to." The angel went back to his food.  
  
Crowley heaved a heavy sigh. "Angels," he began again, "arent allowed to enjoy anything are they?" He picked his wine glass up, and took a long drink.  
  
"I enjoy things."   
  
"Do you?" Crowley sneered. "Or do you just enjoy them, because you've been told to?"  
  
Aziraphale visibly winced. Crowley hit the spot.  
  
"I don't know..." Aziraphale stuttered, and Crowley felt regret. Maybe he had gone to far.  
  
"Listen, angel, I -"  
  
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know the difference either way." The angel stood, keeping his head down and his eyes away from the demons line of sight, but Crowley could smell his tears.  
  
Crowley started to stand, but the angel was well ahead of him by the time he got up. Once out onto the street, he had no idea which way Aziraphale had gone.  
  
"Angel." Crowley growled, as he went back inside to pay the bill. He knew Aziraphale would wonder about it later, and he wanted to be able to tell him he'd actually paid.

Chapter 3 will be up soon, but I was thinking that you guys should READ AND REVIEW! I would love to know if you hate it. ^_^


	3. chapter three

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the claimer: characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven't read them, you should...really quite good.  
  
I also wanted to thank the readers who reviewed this fic. It helps to know someone is reading. And I took off the ban on anon reviews too. So thanks!

I think you all are going to appreciate the end of this chapter.  
  
::sigh:: this is going to end up mushy. When I began the fic I had an idea in my head about how I wanted it to go...but that has evolved over and over. I like what I want to write, but I worry that you guys may not. I'm afraid this installment is rather winded as well.

  
  
God opened up his chamber door and stared out. He had really been in there too long working, and he was almost afraid to go and see how his operation was running. Metatron had always meant well, however...giving something an existence such as the voice of God wasn't exactly deflating. He never left out anything God told him to say, only...sometimes he improvised....

  
  
Chapter three  
  
Aziraphale had stopped running once he had gotten a block or two away from the restaurant. Running felt good. Angels were only supposed to cry when they were told, or when one of those preprogrammed things took place. Angels weren't supposed to run either. One could always find feathers in their wake. Did this mean he wasn't an angel? If not an angel...then what?  
  
_Crowley stepped out of the restaurant into the chilly night air. He loved London like this, cool, breezy, and dark. So many hidden possibilities, and had he not been about to go angel hunting, he would have explored them. With a heavy sigh he pulled open the door to his beloved Bentley and willed the ignition. He started to drop his jacket on the passenger side seat when he noticed a feather. A long, curved, wispy white thing. It took less than a moment for him to realize whose wings such a feather came from. He laughed at himself. Who else was there anyway? "Aziraphale," he smiled to himself, "you must have been running...for your feather to drop this way..." He popped the door back open, and got out. A quick survey of the pavement suggested the angel had run south...back in the direction of his bookshop. Predictable. I could have just gone there, why was I panicked?_  
  
Aziraphale fumbled with his keys, dropping them several times before unlocking the door. After closing it behind him he made a path to the bathroom. It was a nice bathroom, antique tub, with a full-length mirror and porcelain sink. He never used it as a bathroom though, and his customers never felt welcome enough to ask if he had a restroom, but he kept it clean, and full of books and small trinkets.   
  
He stared at his reflection for a long time. He was looking for differences between himself and humans, himself and Crowley, and differences between himself and the other angels. On first inspection he noticed almost nothing, he looked quite human, and all that meant was that his disguise was effective.   
  
He reminded himself that it was so every time he got the chance, as the week previous he had received a box of Belgian Chocolates from a "secret admirer" who had addressed him as "an angel in disguise." After Aziraphale was through panicking, things fell into place. It turned out that the nice old lady down the lane had found the angel to her liking. A few days before that Aziraphale had helped her find one her cats, a tempestuous little beast, with a taste for blood named Baby. As he tended his wounds the demon pondered, out loud as always, why old women liked to name the vicious ones things like "Baby" or "Fluffy". Aziraphale had asked Crowley why Hell hadn't tried recruiting cats to their purpose. Crowley smiled, "We tried, the little bastards are sitting on the fence, wont sell to no one."  
  
_Crowley picked up all of the feathers he could see as he walked. The things that humans did with feathers, he wondered if Aziraphale would really mind if someone turned his feathers into something like quills? Angel feathers *were* nice feathers. It was hard to find feathers that while being so pleasing to the eye, could stand up to your four year olds curiosities. Crowley winced, and continued picking up feathers as he walked. And if Aziraphale didn't want them back, maybe he would put them in his pillow...if the angel didn't want them back of course._  
  
Aziraphale pulled the dress shirt he had been wearing over his head and tossed it to the floor. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. If someone had been standing there they would have been able to see the ripple that spread through the room. It was kind of like standing and looking down the street on an unbearably hot and humid day...the heat warps the air.  
  
Aziraphale spread his wings. He winced. "I shouldn't have run." He said to no one as he tried to smooth out his feathers. Looking into the mirror he found nothing. He *looked* like an angel, same wings. Even Crowley *looked* like an angel. He too had the same wings, and as far as Aziraphale could remember the demon had always had golden eyes, even as an angel.  
  
The things that made Aziraphale different weren't physical, they were internal. Aziraphale knew in his heart that none of the other angels ever had doubts like this. Aziraphale was afraid that he wasn't an angel.  
  
The thought had come into his mind after all of the dealing with Adam Young and the Apocalypse. He had gone against the will of God hadn't he? How was that possible? Angels don't have free will. Angels don't have free will, because angels weren't given souls. He grimaced and faced his reflection down again...still searching.   
  
It was something he had known for a long time, but had never let plague him. He had heard several arguments for why angels do, or don't, from a humans perspective, but he had never had the chance to actually ask God. Getting an appointment with the Boss was like trying to drive through downtown London during Crowley's version of rush hour.  
  
Outside of the bathroom Aziraphale heard glass breaking. "Crowley! If you've barged in and broken one of my lamps, I'll-" he swung the bathroom door open never bothering to fold his wings.  
  
"Ello Angel." Hastur said as he reached out and plucked another one of Aziraphales feathers. Aziraphale fought back a yelp; he wasn't giving him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt. He threw the demon one of his most perfected "angel glares".  
  
Hastur brought the feather under his nose and breathed in taking in Aziraphale's scent. When the angel shivered Hastur smiled brightly. "That's better Angel..." That was when Aziraphale realized he couldn't move. 

"Hell seems to think that Crowley would be much more attentive to his work if there weren't any distractions." He placed a single finger on Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel couldn't help it; it was as if he were injecting fire, right into his body, he fell to his knees.

"I'm going to destroy you **Angel**…" He spat the word, and it began to play on all of the angel's doubts. "Did you hear me Angel? I'm going to destroy you from the inside, out." 

"Your brother Lucifer, has left you an open however..." Hastur brought his face down level with Aziraphale's and grasped his wrist. 

Aziraphale screamed.

I love cliff hangers… R&R, seriously, even if you do hate it. I really want to know why.


	4. chapter four

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the claimer: characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven't read them, you should...really quite good.  
  
I got more reviews than I thought. Thanks a lot! ::prods you to keep you going::   
  
Someone corrected my grammar and I wanted that person to know I wasn't upset by that. I try to go over everything, but end missing something every time. AND I'm an English major. Sad. My weak points mostly have to do with grammar so don't feel bad about that. Someone needs to say it.   
  
With Hastur, when he says "open" in the last chapter, he does indeed mean "opening". But I imagine Hastur saying "open." And anyway, I was hoping that the meaning wasn't clear. ::evil smile::  
  
Oh, and someone was wondering why Aziraphale would shed feathers that way, with his wings folded. I imagine that when Aziraphale left the restaurant in a panic that he lost of good bit of his composure. I'm not at all sure how it works being as I'm not an angel, fiction or no. (Oi vey, now I've got the image of a panicked swan moving at high speeds, leaving feathered devastation in its wake...)  
  
Soooo afraid this is going to turn out badly.

On to the mush!  
  
  
  
Chapter Four  
  
_Crowley, realizing that the feathers ended farther away from the angel's place of business than he liked walking, made the decision to go back and get his car. He knew where the angel was, so there wasn't any need to hurry. He wasn't sure what he was going to say when he got there anyway. "Hey, angel, did you lose some feathers?" Crowley's nose wrinkled in embarrassment.   
  
Around the corner brakes screeched to a halt, just a little too late. Crowley relaxed, and strode the rest of the block to his car. As he opened the car door, a twinge of guilt crawled up his spine. He rolled his eyes. In the distance you could hear someone yelling, "Call an ambulance! They're alive!" It was something._  
  
Hastur crouched, grinning at Aziraphale. Every touch from Hastur killed a small portion of the angel. "It hurts does it?" He let go of his wrist. Hastur spoke directly into Aziraphale's ear.  
  
Aziraphale couldn't find the strength to speak. The courage was there, and had it not been for the feeling such as that of molten lead being poured down his throat, he would have told Hastur that he wasn't afraid and that it didn't hurt at all. Aziraphale was sure it was okay to lie to demons. Without the strength however, Aziraphale just kneeled there, mouth open to speak.   
  
Hastur was loving this. That, Aziraphale could feel pouring off of the demon in gallons. Again, if he could have spoken, he might have told the demon that regular bathing was staple in human infiltration.  
  
"Angel, I would just kill you and be done with it, but I've been told to give you a choice." Hastur grabbed Aziraphale by the hair and forced his gaze. Aziraphale bit back another scream as he let go. The last scream had made Aziraphale feel weak, and if there was one thing he _wasn't_, it was weak.  
  
"Tell me that you're grateful Angel." Hastur sneered.   
  
Aziraphale closed his mouth. He really didn't care what the choice was, if Hastur thought he was going to beg, he might as well kill him.  
  
"Oh?" Hastur raised his eyebrows. "Stoic? Is that what you're going for?" He grabbed Aziraphale by the throat and stood up bringing the angel with him.  
  
Aziraphale's eyes began to water, not from tears alone, but the sheer pain of the thing. He hadn't realized this much pain existed. His left shoulder and arm were useless because Hastur had touched him there, and his head hurt so much that he was having a hard time seeing anything. Now it felt as if his throat were collapsing in on his lungs.   
  
His eyes widened. He hadn't ever been trapped to his body before...It had been all too easy to move with bullet wounds, or after stepping in between a drunken Crowley and one of the male strippers on "Ladies Night." Crowley had felt that dancing topless to The Village People just wasn't sinful enough, and had been intoxicated enough to say so. The thought of Crowley made things seem further away. Aziraphale felt himself drifting.  
  
"Angel!" Hastur screamed, angry that Aziraphale wasn't screaming.   
  
Aziraphale blinked. The world spun back into place. He was back, writhing in pain, being held in the air by a demon with an agenda. Right, _ow_.  
  
"Lucifer, in all of his..._mercy_," Hastur placed the word as if he disliked its taste. "Has decided to give you a reprieve."  
  
Aziraphale met Hastur's eyes again. The demon didn't want to give Aziraphale anything. He just wanted to kill him in the worst possible way. And it was bad. Aziraphale was curious as to just how he was keeping conscious. Maybe a deal wouldn't be too bad...something like "Don't interfere here, get us some inside there..."  
  
"Fall Angel."  
  
Aziraphale's eyes focused. He looked at Hastur as if he were wearing a pink tutu. Crowley would be proud.  
  
Hastur drove Aziraphale back to his knees. "Don't you understand yet angel? This is new." The way he said new made Aziraphale's skin crawl. "You wont be returning to heaven this time. This," he held his free hand out in front of Aziraphale, "is going to destroy you angel...not just this mortal coil." Hastur was almost laughing. "Where is your faith now Angel? Do you know what happens to angels when they actually manage to perish?"  
  
Aziraphale didn't even try to imagine. No one knew. They just...disappeared.  
  
Hastur leaned in again. "Fall. Fall Angel, and this will all have been a bad dream."  
  
The uselessness in Aziraphale's limbs was spreading, no, creeping down to his toes. He felt as if there were true fire erasing his insides. Soon he was left with nothing but the raging pain coming from Hastur's hand on his throat.  
  
"Fall Angel," Hastur smiled angelically, "Or don't, it's almost over anyway."  
  
Aziraphale managed a grimace and tightened his right fist. _Wait_. Aziraphale loosened his right fist, the tightened it again. So, not a fluke. Would his whole arm work that way?  
  
Hastur loosened his grip. "Almost over Angel, too bad I can't prolong your life, I would love to see more of your exquisite face twisted up in pain." Hastur leaned in closer to Aziraphale's face.   
  
Aziraphale flexed his fingers. It certainly wouldn't work if he waited much longer.  
  
Hastur loosened his grip more as he leaned in closer.  
  
_Oh, if you do what I think you are going to do, I think I'll wretch._ He thought.  
  
_Crowley drove, as he normally would have, only this blue haired old biddy in a car that looked like it hadn't been serviced since the American civil war was sitting in front of his Bentley maintaining 3 miles per hour. What was worse was the fact that the woman was so old, her mind was closed to Crowley. He couldn't make her pass gas, let alone drive the pedal to the floor.  
_  
It was as if something lit from behind Hastur's eyes as he forced his mouth down onto the angels waiting lips.   
  
Aziraphale put up with that for as long as it took for him to swing his right arm up to Hastur's chest and then he forced everything he had left out of his hand, and through Hastur himself.  
  
A very surprised Hastur knocked down every bookcase in his flight to the very front wall of the store, where he lay still.  
  
Aziraphale gasped, for air, as the pain that had raged through the rest of his being, rolled into his right arm. He was ashamed of himself. He had let the demon get the best of him, he hadn't been prepared. A simple thing really.   
  
The shadow that was Hastur groaned and began to wake up.  
  
Aziraphale knew _that_ too. Had the angel been strong enough he could have send the demon back to hell, but he gave it his best. Even if his best had destroyed his beloved bookshop.  
  
Hastur stood. "All deals are off Angel." He began walking in a very determined way, setting books on fire as he went.  
  
Aziraphale thought that was just as well. He had never planned on making a deal with Hastur anyway. He did feel bad for the books though.  
  
Hastur grabbed a hand full of the angel's hair and drove him violently into the bathroom. Aziraphale couldn't really help with the driving, as he couldn't move. He did however feel his head making contact with that antique tub he had fancied so much.  
  
Crowley heard it. All of the birds heard it too; it was enough to drive the bat in front of him into slamming her foot down onto the gas and accidentally driving up onto the sidewalk, taking out several parking meters.  
  
Crowley was stunned, whatever that was, had him sitting there in traffic not moving at all. That sound, blood curdling, and desperate. A scream. An angel screamed. Crowley had only ever seen one angel die. He was actually glad that wasn't his fault. _Angels only scream like that when..._ Suddenly real panic hit the demon square in the chest. It sounded, _it sounded like Aziraphale._ Crowley took off in his Bentley, driving through whatever didn't move in time.  
  
Fighting the urge to drive the Bentley right into the shop, Crowley double-parked, cursed the angry drivers behind him with gout and ran towards the shop door.   
  
Panic rose in his throat when he saw the inside. The books were everywhere, and some were charred. Aziraphale wouldn't allow someone to vandalize his books. Stepping carefully over broken glass and fallen shelves Crowley moved further into the store. "Angel?" He called, carefully, and not quite loud enough. He was hoping that the angel wasn't actually there. Another step.   
  
Crowley looked down at one of Aziraphale's loafers. "Aziraphale!" He called louder, the urgency rising in his voice. He wasn't in the shop front, that left...  
  
Crowley rushed into the bathroom in the back, never noticing that the door had been blown clear off its hinges.   
  
Aziraphale was there, his head leaned against the old tub. He looked as if he were sleeping, having peaceful dreams.   
  
Crowley reached out and touched his shoulder. He was cold. The demon knelt beside Aziraphale and began to wrap his arm around his waist to hoist him off of the bathroom floor. He drew his arm away quickly however, when he felt the wetness on his back.  
  
Crowley leaned the angel forward to get a better view, and had to tear his eyes away from what he saw. Covering his mouth with the collar of his shirt he looked again at Aziraphale's face.   
  
Even the demon in him was repulsed by what he saw.   
  
Something had taken, no ripped Aziraphale's wings from his back.   
  
The thought made Crowley's own backache. His wings. The demon turned, and made a quick exit from the room. He couldn't look at Aziraphale anymore. It made him afraid. He had taken so long to get back to the shop. Aziraphale looked peaceful.   
  
He closed his eyes. He had heard him scream. There was nothing peaceful about that.  
  
Suddenly the store felt smaller and Crowley began to make for the front door. He had heard, and still hadn't been prepared. _Angels weren't supposed to die. They weren't -  
_  
A gasp, sounding like a strong intake of breath.  
  
Crowley stopped. _Breathing._  
  
Spinning around like a bottle cap Crowley made his way back into the bathroom.   
  
Aziraphale's eyes were wide open; he was looking right at Crowley.   
  
"Can you stand?"   
  
The angels eyes started to water.  
  
"Can you speak?" Crowley was a demon, he was NOT letting his own voice break.  
  
Nothing, the angel just stared at him. But he was alive.  
  
"You can blink?"  
  
The angel blinked. That was something.  
  
"Right, one blink for yes then." He knelt beside the angel. "Am I right? You can not move at all?"  
  
Blink.  
  
Right. "Right, then I'll carry you to the car." He pushed his arms under Aziraphale and lifted him slowly. "We," he made sure to breathe slowly, "we cant just let you lie here all night..."  
  
Crowley carried Aziraphale out of the bookshop trying very hard not to notice how heavily the tears were falling. _I'm a demon_. He told himself before asking Aziraphale if he'd hurt him.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Are you in pain?"  
  
Long pause, blink, pause, blink, pause, blink.  
  
Crowley turned away and walked around to the driver's side. He got in and began to drive silently.  
  
"Are, are you going to die?"  
  
Blink.  
  
Crowley ran all of the red lights back to his flat. All of them. He had even asked the angel if it bothered him. Aziraphale didn't blink.  
  
The angel can't die. I - I wont let him. There has to be something.   
  
They entered his flat, Crowley still carrying the angel. He laid him down on to the couch. "Is this alright?"  
  
Blink.  
  
Crowley thought at that moment, he would do anything. _Truly anything_, to stop the angels tears.  
  
  


To be continued.  
  
There will be a weird little twist I promise. I considered leaving Aziraphale dead for this cliffhanger, only I realized I myself would have a serious issue with that.

Of all of the chapters I've written I think I like this one least.

Anyway, enjoy, and keep reviewing! I love hearing from you all.


	5. chapter five

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the claimer: characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven't read them, you should...really quite good.  
  
Thank you guys for all of the reviews, its really cool of you. I'm sorry chapter 4 was kinda eh, but I hope that you wont be too disappointed with number 5. ^__^  
  
Just so you know, I have been on this kick with a certain song, called "Why Dont You and I" By Santana Featuring Chad Kroeger. ::sigh:: So if it has tainted this, I'm sorry.

  
  
_God strolled down his steps, of cold white marble, the banister etched in gold, and out into heaven. "Metatron?"   
  
SIR? YOU'RE HERE SIR? I -  
  
"Yes, I am here. I want you to go and take a break for a bit. I'll take over."  
  
YES SIR, BUT -  
  
"But nothing, I should do my job at least a third of the time." As Metatron wallowed away God peered into his telescope._  
  
Chapter Five - End of the World  
  
  
Aziraphale opened his eyes slowly and looked around as much as he could from his position. Everything that had happened the night previous came back to him in a wave. He remembered where he was though, and allowed his mind to relax. He blinked his eyes. Even that was giving him trouble, though not too much, but the rest of his body was screaming.  
  
A shuffle of feet in panic, then a pair of golden colored eyes looking directly into a pair of silent blue ones. "You're awake?"  
  
If Aziraphale could have, he would have smiled. Blink.  
  
Crowley's head fell in obvious relief. "Angel," he said pushing himself into a sitting position on the floor beside the couch where Aziraphale could still see his face, "I thought you'd gone and died again."  
  
So, you were worried about me?  
  
"You were just laying there, and I was talking to you, and all of the sudden your eyes had closed." Crowley sighed again, and raked his hands through his hair.  
  
Aziraphale noted his lack of sleep.  
  
"You are okay, I mean, no worse than yesterday then?"  
  
Aziraphale thought. No worse than yesterday. Blink.  
  
Crowley nodded. "Do you remember everything that has happened to you?"  
  
The angel remembered Hastur's touch, and the liquid fire consuming his insides. He remembered Hastur's kiss.   
  
"Angel?"  
  
Aziraphale closed his eyes. He remembered blasting Hastur, the highpoint of the evening, but he didnt remember anything that happened after Hastur threw him into the bathroom. Oh, the bath tub. I hit my head.  
  
Crowley was looking him in the eyes, waiting.  
  
Blink.  
  
Crowley sighed. That was good. He wouldn't have to tell the angel about his wings. He still wanted to check them though, in better light. "I am going to lean you forward for a minute then, alright? I just want to see."  
  
Aziraphale's eyes filled up with questions. What does he need to see?  
  
"I'll try not to hurt you."  
  
Blink.  
  
Crowley stood up and reached, very gingerly around the angel, leaning him forward. There was blood on the couch, but at least Aziraphale had stopped bleeding. On the angels back were two long curved, and visibly deep wounds. Crowley winced, and laid him slowly back down.  
  
"It's not so bad," he lied, "and you've stopped bleeding."  
  
Aziraphale let his eyes widen in horror. He hadn't been bleeding as far as he could remember.  
  
Crowley looked at him. "You said that you- I thought you said...YOU BLINKED!"  
  
Aziraphale did his best to be angry, but he couldn't pull it off when he saw the demons eyes. You are worried.  
  
Crowley stood up, as if to shake the conversation. He really didn't fancy telling the angel that his wings were missing.   
  
Aziraphale willed his eyes to burn a hole into the demons back.

When Crowley turned back around he almost flinched. The angel did look so pale. It was frightening. "You've – you've lost your – you've…" He didn't know subtle way to tell an angel that someone ripped his wings off. Who could blame him? He didn't want to hurt him anymore than he already was. 

What have I lost? Aziraphale watched the demon fighting to tell him something. What have I lost? The angel fought back the panic gripping his mind like ice.

Crowley turned around suddenly and dropped to his knees where he and the angel were face to face and on the same level. "Angel," he said looking right into Aziraphale's eyes, "someone – someone took your wings." He watched the angel's eyes widen in what he knew was fear, and then shut, tightly closing in an attempt to shut him out. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you didn't know…I only – " 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, but didn't look at Crowley. He couldn't look at the demon. He wasn't sure before, but he was sure now. He would die. If he had taken his own wings, he would just have been human, a soul trapped in a body, but someone else had stolen them, and that just made him dead. He was trapped in a dying body…without his wings. He blinked away tears. There was so much he didn't know. Did angels who died like this get to go back to heaven? He wasn't sure he wanted to go back there either. Maybe because of that he wouldn't get to go back anyway. No one knew anyway, what happened to the angels that died.

Crowley watched the angel's eyes fill with tears, and he got up and walked away. He was a demon and demons didn't cry. They didn't cry, but Crowley avoided the mirror anyway as he locked himself in the bathroom and sank to the floor. 

_God looked up from the telescope, a frown drawn quite firmly across his face. "Metatron, can you come here please?"_

It was just a question, but Metatron knew better than to say no. "Is something wrong God?"

_God angled the telescope and instructed Metatron to look in. "Have you been watching this?" Anger edged his words._

_"No sir, I mean I don't know what you mean... Is that demon there again?" Metatron thought for a moment that he knew what God was angry about. "I've given Aziraphale fair warning God, he knows he wasn't supposed to be meandering about with that – that infidel."_

_"Fair warning." God repeated._

_"Yes sir, fair warning and plenty of it, in fact I went down there myself the other night and scolded the angel."_

_God gritted his teeth. "You have overstepped your boundaries Metatron."_

_"I even told him that – " Metatron blinked. "I did? But Sir I only-" _

_"You only didn't do what I asked. I gave you specific instructions concerning Aziraphale did I not?"_

_"Yes sir, and if it hadn't been for that demon I –" _

_"The DEMON," God boomed so loud that Metatron felt in vibrating in his bones, "seems to be the only one I can count on, and I haven't asked HIM to do anything!"_

_"But sir, the demon is – " _

_God looked at Metatron, focused all of his attention on one being. Something he hadn't done in years. "One more word about the demon and I'll make you wish you had no voice." He calmed. "Things might be mended…Metatron." He patted the angel on the head. Anger was a worthless emotion. _

_God turned back to the telescope. "Let everyone know that I'll be taking a trip." _

To be continued.

Sorry it has taken so long and that its not so great. But read and review anyway, okay? Chapter 6 in like a week. 


	6. chapter six

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the claimer: characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven't read them, you should...really quite good.

So then, this took forever didn't it? Please don't be mad. I never intended to just leave it; I just have had so much crap going on that writing really had to take a back seat to life. Even my own original stuff, which hurts me deeply.

I actually intended this chapter to be a touch longer, but it seems I cant just end it right here. Anyway, sorry for keeping you all waiting so long. There will be another chapter after this one, hopefully it wont take a full year.

Chapter 6: Revelations

Crowley wiped his eyes with his hands, the cold tile of the bathroom floor saving him from falling into a complete mess. He just didn't know what to do. Who did he tell about this? Who would understand? Its not like as a demon he could just call Michael down and explain. Or could he? How would that look on his permanent record? Saving an angel, or rather attempting to, as Crowley wasn't sure anyone could do anything anyway.

He stood up. What was he doing sitting there wondering what would happen to him anyway? He still had his wings, he still had tons of possibilities. His angel, Aziraphale didn't have many left.

He unlocked the bathroom door and walked back out into his living room. Aziraphale was even more striking against the black leather then the last time he had been there. It was because he was so pale. Crowley almost called out his name to check and see if he was still alive, but he knew that he was. He could almost feel the angels sorrow. He ventured around the side of the couch and looked down at him. He almost gasped. Within all of that pale skin the angel's eyes were still so very much alive. He knelt down. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't know. I wouldn't have told you, or I would have been – I don't know better about it somehow."

Aziraphale was calm now. There wasn't much else he could be. He couldn't really rant and rave and scream and panic to anyone inside of his own head. He blinked, willing Crowley to understand that it was okay. It wasn't the Demons fault. If it hadn't been for him, Aziraphale would still be laying like a broken doll on the inside of the bookstore.

"If I hadn't said those things in the restaurant you wouldn't have run. We might have gone into the bookstore together, or –" he paused, "not at all." Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and brought the angels palm to his cheek.

Aziraphale thought he felt himself grow warm about the face. He couldn't move damn it, but he could blush? Aziraphale had always wondered if that was a flaw. He'd never seen another angel blush, yet every time the demon touched him or even looked at him he turned pink. No wonder everyone always thought he was gay. Maybe he did like the demon a little more than was necessary.

He looked up at Crowley who was still holding his hand. Okay, maybe a lot more.

Crowley looked down at the blushing angel. He had the most sudden and irresistible urge to kiss him. Maybe not so sudden, but still, he could feel himself being drawn in and he couldn't make himself look away. He grinned. Maybe he should just do it, surprise the angel one last time and get to see that look in his eyes.

Then angel was panicking now. Why in the hell was the demon looking at him like that? Aziraphale shut his eyes. Crowley's face was so close that he could feel his breath across his face. There had been many times before than the angel thought that the demon would kiss him, but he never had. Aziraphale wasn't sure what to think. Crowley was really the only attachment he had. Maybe the demon thought he would be angry, or upset. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would have kissed him all of those times if he had known it was okay.

Crowley brushed his lips across the angel's eyelids.

Aziraphale wondered what he had missed by never telling him so.

The demon traced a finger over Aziraphale's mouth waiting for him to open his eyes in protest, but he didn't.

Aziraphale was a little nervous, knowing what was going to happen, so he concentrated hard on the feeling of Crowley's hand in his.

Wait. Feeling?

Aziraphales eyes shot open and he squeezed the demons hand. Crowley straightened up in shock. "You moved. Your hand, it moved."

"I hadn't meant to ruin that."

Crowley turned his head to meet the new voice. Both he and Aziraphale saw God leaning against the doorway.

God smiled softly. "I only thought that it might be a little nicer if you could feel it." He walked around to the chair across the living room and sat down. Two pairs or very nervous eyes and silence followed him.

Crowley spoke first. "It isn't his fault. He couldn't move, and I brought him here all on my own, he couldn't even tell me no, because he cant speak, and I mean I wasn't really going to do anything I was just con-"

God raised his hand cutting Crowley off. "Its alright, you haven't actually done anything wrong."

Crowley nodded. "But Aziraphale, I didn't give him a choice I just kidnapped him and –"

"Crowley," God said softly, "Aziraphale hasn't done anything wrong either."

"Oh." Crowley sighed as he sagged back down to the floor, some of the immediate alert gone.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowleys worry. It never ceased to amaze him.

"Aziraphale." God was looking directly at him.

"Sir?" Aziraphales voice came out as a rasp, and Crowley's head spun around to look at him.

"Soon, you will be alright. I started healing you the moment I realized your plight." God smiled almost evilly. "That's why you were able to blush."

Aziraphale blushed again. Just how long had God been standing there?

"Crowley," God said, "Help him sit up, we have much to talk about."

Crowley stood and with almost no effort at all pulled the angel into a sitting position. He paused and leaned him forward to look at his back. The wound was still there, huge and real. Why wasn't God healing that like everything else? He started to pull away from the angel and sit back down, but Aziraphale had his sleeve wound tightly into his fingers. A quick look at the angels face confirmed that he wasn't letting go.

The demon looked at God who nodded. "Have a seat Crowley."

Crowley sat down carefully avoiding looking at the angel, who was carefully avoiding looking at him as well.

"Will you two relax?" God rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair. "Aziraphale, the last thing to heal will be your wings. They could take up to six months here. The wound will heal, you wont die, and you aren't trapped any longer."

Aziraphale was flexing his fingers and toes. "Six months here. How long would it take if I were…home?"

Crowley froze. He wanted Aziraphale to heal and be comfortable and even happy. Just…here.

God wasn't looking at the angel, he was looking at Crowley, and smiling silently to himself about the range of emotion making its way across his face.

"Could be years. I haven't ever actually made it in time to save an angel separated from its wings."

Aziraphale stopped and looked at God, "Excuse my asking sir, but why so long in heaven?"

God sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "You know, Aziraphale, out of all the angels in heaven, you and you alone ask the most questions."

The angel froze and Crowley started to open his mouth, the entire time wondering why he kept risking his skin in the first place. It was almost involuntary. "Its not –"

"Do hush Crowley. He still isn't in any trouble, and your exasperated efforts to be his knight in shining armor are making you seem angelic."

"I most certainly am not angeli-" Aziraphale slapped a hand ever Crowleys mouth and gave him the dirtiest look and angel could manage in Gods presence.

Aziraphale turned to God to appoligize for Crowley, but stopped short at what he saw. God was laughing. It was silent, but he was laughing so hard his face was turning red. He looked at Crowley, but he seemed to be just as absorbed in the scene as he was.

God raised his hand in the air like a white flag, "I'm sorry, its just, I haven't been around the two of you in so long, I forgot just how amusing you were." He stopped laughing.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze to the couch.

"Aziraphale, I have so much to tell you." He turned to Crowley, "And you as well, I don't know where to begin."


	7. A Note

A Note.

Okay, so to be completely honest you probably all want my blood, yes? Life has happened. I left this for so long that I didn't really think that there would be any interest anymore. Life happened and to be honest I haven't written anything in years. I'm reading this and wondering what happened to me, I can't seem to find my _own_ muse anymore.

What I want to know is if you all want me to attempt to finish this? It has been years and I have changed, and thus my writing style may have as well. I don't know what the final product will be. However, if there is still interest I will try. It sucks to read a story I like only to find that the author isn't finishing it. It was never my intention, and I'm sorry.

Thanks, and let me know!

Lyss


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